Aaron Hotchner, World Record Holder
by SSAEmilyHotchner
Summary: Oneshot. After Hotch coincidentally runs into Emily at a popular DC museum, the two dark haired agents spend the afternoon trying to outdo one another in a game of flirtation and witty banter. Hotch is determined to win, but Emily? She won't go down without a fight - or something much, much better. Written for Speetsy's prompt, "museum flirting fluff".


**Author's Note: A little backstory - I frequently volunteer at a neighborhood museum with my boyfriend, which is where I got a lot of the inspiration for this piece. So when the lovely Speetsy, my alter-ego and reviewer #380 for _If That Mockingbird Don't Sing,_ gave me the prompt "museum flirting fluff" for the oneshot that I owed her...well, let's just say I had loads of fun writing it. As always, thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its** **characters.**

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Emily let a smile touch her lips as she slowly wandered from painting to painting. The exhibit was worth the price of admission and the purging of her afternoon coffee, she supposed. It made sense that the museum curators didn't allow food or drink into the spacious gallery; and while Emily was terribly fond of her Starbucks, she was and always had been even fonder of the Impressionists. Pierre-Auguste Renoir and Mary Cassatt, Manet and Pissarro, Monet and his waterlilies...and especially Degas and his ballerinas. They made her feel like a young girl again.

They made Emily feel...free.

And freedom was exactly what Emily needed lately. Freedom from the hustle and bustle of the city she usually loved, freedom from the stress of the job, freedom from her cluttered conscience and her confused heart.

The museum gave her that freedom, that sanctuary. The large, unsparingly lit gallery was completely quiet, save for gentle piano music coming from somewhere nearby. Among the svelte dancers painted in pale pink and blueish white, Emily felt truly at home.

So she let her mind wander.

She felt...conflicted. Turning down Clyde's offer to head Interpol's London office had been one of the most difficult decisions Emily had ever made. But in the end, she knew she had chosen correctly. For there was a single reason she was choosing to stay in the country she knew so well. That single reason was all Emily had needed to convince herself. The sheer thought of never seeing him again...it nearly drove her insane.

_When did I fall so head over heels for my boss? _Emily moaned to herself. _It means nothing. Sure, he ended things with Beth. That still doesn't mean I - we - have a chance._

So lost in thought was Emily that she didn't notice the father and son who had entered the museum through the entrance closest to her.

~.~.~

"Can we get ice cream after, Daddy? _Please?"_

Hotch smiled down at Jack, who was clutching tightly to his hand. "Yes, Jack. We'll get ice cream, don't worry."

The little boy grinned. "You promise?"

"Pinky promise." Hotch glanced at his watch. "Now we need to hurry, okay? Your class is about to start." He motioned to the cluster of art students in one of the museum's far corners. "Do you have everything?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, Daddy." His pace quickened at the sight of his newfound friends.

"Are you sure? Popsicle sticks, paints, felt stickers..." They stopped as Jack checked the paper bag in his hands, just a yard away from the kind-looking woman who monitored Jack's arts and crafts class.

"I have everything," Jack insisted, tugging on his father's sleeve. "Can I go now?"

That made Hotch chuckle. "Sometimes I wonder where you got your impatience, Jack Hotchner." He ruffled his son's golden blonde hair affectionately. "Yes, you can go; I know you're excited."

"I am!" And that was that; with a warm hug and a quickly uttered goodbye, Jack was off, leaving Hotch to himself.

Not without his manners, Hotch gave Jack's teacher a wave in greeting before turning to face the main gallery. She was pretty, he had to admit that much. Blonde hair, blue-green eyes, a nice smile...Hotch briefly remembered Rossi telling him, long ago, that that was his type. _Blonde._ And long ago, with Haley in the picture, Rossi had been right.

But now, he was wrong, blinded. Hotch had a different 'type' now. A very different type.

Not for the first time that day, Hotch found himself thinking of _her._ Indeed, she was different. While Haley had been gold like the sun, she was silver like the moon; the moon that shone throughout the night, those nights he so longed to spend with her. She was incredible. She was a vision, she was a beacon in the stifling darkness, she was -

She was standing right in front of him.

For a split second, Hotch was floored. No matter how many times he blinked to assure himself he was simply daydreaming, Emily remained before him, lost in another world as she peered intently at an immaculately crafted painting.

Licking his lips and clearing his throat quietly, he came up behind her. "So this is how you spend your days off."

Immediately, Emily whirled around, surprise and...was that a brief glimpse of elation he saw on her beautiful face? Whatever it was, it was expertly masked in the matter of a heartbeat. "Hotch," she breathed. "What are you doing here?"

A smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. "Hello to you, too, Emily."

_Emily. He called me Emily._

"I signed Jack up for an arts and crafts class here," Hotch continued, his hands clasped behind his back in order to prevent himself from reaching out to her. "He's loved it so far, and since this Impressionism exhibit is brand new...well, I figured I could spend a good portion of the afternoon here." He tilted his head to the side, gazing at her. "You?"

"You're going to think I'm such a nerd," she said, laughing to herself.

"You make that sound like it's a bad thing," Hotch said. "Your...nerdiness...I think it's endearing." _Endearing? _Hotch internally slapped himself. _Watch yourself, Hotchner._

_Endearing?_ Emily had to actively refrain from blushing. "I'm glad you think that," she said lightly. "A lot of men find it...strange. Weird. Oh, I don't know why I'm telling you this -"

_A lot of men don't know how to appreciate women like you._ "A lot of men are blind, Emily," Hotch said evenly, effectively dispelling Emily's embarrassment. He bit his lip discreetly; _just keep digging that grave, Hotchner_.

"Well, that's very sweet of you to say," she said, and her voice was wonderfully husky, much to Hotch's delight. Emily didn't really know what she was doing; Hotch was her _boss!_ But in a relaxed setting with him, Emily felt like an entirely different woman, a woman who didn't feel the need to hide the way she was admiring the snug fit of his dark grey jeans, or how delicious he looked in that powder blue shirt. Catching his slightly darkened gaze, she rewarded him with a sparkling smile. "But anyway...the reason I'm here. I love Impressionist paintings. I always have. Especially -"

"Especially Degas?"

Her lips parted slightly, in question. "Well...that's the second time today that you've managed to catch me off guard, Hotch. You trying to make a world record?"

"Something like that." Hotch unknowingly took a step closer to her. "How many more times would I have to catch you off guard in order to get into the Guinness book?"

"I don't know." She gave an elegant shrug, then tossed her hair over one shoulder. "A lot, I'd wager." _Oh God, am I flirting with him?_

_Is she...flirting with me? _"A lot," Hotch echoed. "I'll keep that in mind."

A suggestive second passed before Emily gave a playful sigh. "Okay, I'll bite. How did you know Degas is my favorite?"

"You mentioned it to Reid the other day, in passing." He gave her a handsome smile. "I listen."

"Congratulations," Emily drawled, after having been stunned to silence for long enough. "You're one of the very few men that do. A _gentleman_."

Hotch's smile widened. "Speaking of gentlemen, and me being one...I don't think I've told you yet, but you look stunning." He made sure she was watching, then raked his gaze over her lithe figure with nothing but appreciation and respect.

Emily's breathy chuckle met his ears. "You like?" she joked, performing a twirl for his indulgence.

But Hotch's voice was serious when he answered. "Very much so." He rather liked this game they were playing; where he could throw away all inhibitions and carry a non-work related conversation with the gorgeous brunette before him.

He quite liked making her speechless, too.

"You don't wear clothes like that in the office." He cocked his head to the side, loving the way she looked in that form-fitting heather grey dress...in those firetruck red heels. "Why is that?"

"I don't know," Emily said honestly, shrugging once more. "I guess I like to save my skirts and dresses - my more feminine outfits, I guess you could say - for situations when I'm not surrounded by death." She fidgeted with a strand of hair slipping out of her loose side-bun. "Why?" Her eyes shone with mirth. "Do you want me to wear skirts more often?"

_Oh, to hell with this._

Again, Hotch took a single step closer. His smile, dimples and all, was wickedly disarming. "That would please me," he said simply, in that dark baritone of his that made Emily want to rip his perfectly tailored clothes right off his body.

That made Emily grin, and she could feel her insides begin to tingle. Oh, she was enjoying this, this new side to the man everyone believed to be cold as ice. Now he was like a fire, threatening to engulf her in his heat. "Yes, sir. But..." she took her plump bottom lip between her teeth, "what else pleases you...Aaron?"

For once, Hotch was the one caught off guard.

Emily let out a quiet exclamation of victory. "Prentiss - one, Hotchner - four."

"Four? More like six."

"You haven't answered my question, _Aaron_." She leaned in close, real close. She was flirting a dangerously thin line, but she didn't care. She was a profiler; she knew just what the man before her wanted. But she just _had_ to ask. "What else pleases you?"

_Don't do it, Hotchner. Don't do it. _Slowly, Hotch turned so that his lips were a mere hairsbreadth away from the delicate shell of her ear. And again, for what had to be the hundredth time that hour, he smiled. "You'll know soon enough." It was his turn to laugh when he felt Emily's surprised exhalation against his cheek. "Hotchner - _seven,_ Prentiss - one. Sad, pathetic, measly little one..."

She gave his chest a playful shove. "Rub it in more, will you?" she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I already know it's going to take me a stroke of luck - or perhaps, a _very_ bold act - to beat you."

"You're the one who made this into a competition, Emily; not me," he reminded.

Emily simply rolled her eyes. "Follow me," she said. "To the gift shop," she clarified, taking note of the question dancing behind dark, mysterious eyes.

She didn't lead him to the gift shop, however.

Hotch barely had the time to realize they were at the very back of the museum, near the elevator, when Emily kissed him. It was just as he had imagined, and better still. Emily's hand fisted in his shirt and he couldn't care less that she was wrinkling the material; no, not when her lips were so soft and supple beneath his, not when she smelled so perfect and alluring, not when every single curve of her body was pressed against his.

She sighed contentedly against his hard mouth, then pulled back just enough to be able to peer into his soulful eyes. Her smile was radiant. "So..." Emily ran her thumb over his bottom lip, "how many points does that give me?"

Hotch couldn't help it; he responded with a deep belly laugh. "Hmmm. I'm feeling pretty generous today. I'll give you...three points."

"Three points?" Emily was appalled. "But that was an _amazing _kiss!"

"Yes," he rumbled. "Yes, it was."

"I guess I'll just have to step up my game, then." Emily gave no more warning; in a mere second, her lips were back on his in an extraordinary kiss...a kiss that came with a bonus.

Emily reveled in the deep-seated groan of pleasure she drew from Hotch as she sucked wantonly on his tongue, but he gave her only a brief moment of victory before she was the one moaning. Their tongues danced in a heated battle for dominance, one that Hotch wanted so desperately to win...

...but he hadn't been lying when he said he was feeling generous.

Breaking the kiss of his own volition this time, Hotch dropped his lips to Emily's neck. "Before you ask, I'm giving you another three points for that kiss."

Emily pouted. _"Aaron -"_

"So we're tied."

She sighed petulantly, fully aware that he was loving her teasing. Her lips still tingled from his passionate assault there. "And let me guess: Mr. Aaron Hotchner has a tiebreaker in mind."

"I do," he said matter-of-factly. With his hand now resting on the small of her back, Hotch guided Emily back to the main gallery; back to her absolute favorite painting in the entire exhibit, _Ballerina and Woman with Umbrella on a Bench_.

"And are you going to let me know what this tiebreaker is, any time soon?" she asked. "Patience has never been one of my strong suits."

"Clearly," Hotch joked. Gently, he pressed his lips to her temple. "Tell me you'll go to lunch with me, Emily."

_Oh my God._ Her beautiful doe eyes widened; gone was the taunting attitude she had adapted throughout their entire conversation. "Really?"

_'Really'?_ That's _how you respond?_

Hotch nodded, his smile soft this time. "Jack's class doesn't end for another hour. I would really love to take you out for lunch or dinner, and now...well, I can't think of a better time. To be honest; Degas might fascinate you, but _you_ fascinate _me_. Always have, always will." He felt his heart begin to swell with pride when she let him take her hand in his. "So...what do you say?"

"I say...yes." Emily gave him a kiss this time, to his cheek. "Lunch with you sounds fantastic." They were halfway to the museum's front doors when she stopped. "Oh, and there's actually one more thing I need to tell you."

He grinned, already knowing what she was about to say. "And that 'one thing' would be?"

"The World Record title is yours."

**THE END.**

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**Author's Note: ****Like it? Love it? Please drop me a line, if you have the time! I'd love to know what you think about the story; your feedback and reviews always make me smile. :)**


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